Greater New Orleans

Wood has its own life in historic New Orleans

Time was that I didn't give it much thought at all aside from in its natural state, which offered shade on hot days and something to hang shiny ornaments on at Christmastime.

Moving to New Orleans a few decades ago, my outlook changed, as I became acquainted with the craftsmanship in centuries-old homes, constructed in a time when fine handwork and intricate designs -- rather than speed of completion and the cutting of corners -- were the hallmarks of successful builders.

The woodwork in a historic home can be as breathtaking as any artwork, from simple floors of sturdy pine, each board created without benefit of modern tools, to intricate moldings and cornices, to majestically sized furniture of mahogany or native cypress, a wood that to me, even in finished form, always carries hints of the mysteries of the swamp.

When I became a homeowner, wood was defined much less artfully, as raw 2-by-4s, 2-by-6s, 4-by-4s and the like. It spoke of monotony, of waiting for things yet to be shaped and finished and bent to my will, the sooner the better.

These days, in this place, however, wood has become more than just shelter for our bodies. It is a part of the fabric of our lives.

We've written in InsideOut about the connection between the literal and figurative realities of place. When Mary Elliott and Lowell McCormick of Ponchatoula lost a couple of 40-year-old crape myrtles to Hurricane Katrina, they used the branches to create a pergola in their garden.

"I couldn't bear to throw away that lovely wood. It was so unique, " Elliott told us after the storm. "We searched through the wood to get pieces with gnarls and knots." They also built a bench from it.

Artist Barbara Roberds, whose mirrors framed with salvaged wood are featured today in Cool Stuff (see Page 4), talks about her raw material the way a national archivist might talk about personal papers from George Washington's presidency.

"When I'm picking through, I know that it (wood) had a previous life, and I can bring it back to life. Each (piece) has a story to tell.

"I'm taking history and putting it back into new life and new function."

There's been an evolution in how we think about wood, and I don't think it's just me. Maybe the green movement has caused it. Maybe Katrina did, or at least it intensified the trend.

"Right after the hurricane, a lot of photographers were shooting, " Roberds said, "but I didn't have it in my heart to preserve any of it. I just wanted it over. I spent more time looking at things on the side of the road than using a camera. I wanted to preserve what New Orleans was rather than record the devastation."

Old bead board is one of her favorites for pairing with her photographs.

"When you sand it, you always get layers. You may get three or four mixtures of paint, and that's another detail of history. You wonder what year this was painted in. Oxide green was everywhere at the turn of the century. The colors help tell how old it is."

Of course, lots of reasons for reusing wood are less poetic, more practical, as demonstrated in the increased popularity of salvage operations like The Green Project, the Preservation Resource Center Warehouse Store, the Habitat for Humanity Restore and the Old City Building Center. But there's something about old buildings and their bones that resonates with New Orleanians.

Even those who shop the salvage yards to save money or to save the environment -- or both -- may hear aging construction components whisper of other, long-ago lives, if they learn to listen with their imaginations.